Cluny: Seedbed of Reformation

A model of the Third Abbey Church of Cluny, the

largest Christian Church ever constructed; except for

one tower and part of a transept it was destroyed

after the French Revolution. 

  Before we look at the Gregorian Reform, I want to take a look at the Abbey of Cluny which many historians credit with launching the Gregorian Reform.  Actually, while I am not so sure that I see the connection, at least a direct connection, between Cluny and the Gregorian Reform, I must admit that Cluny is too important to overlook in any event as it certainly set the “gold standard” for monastic life which in turn would inspire many of the Reformers of the eleventh century in their goal of purifying the Church from the decay it had fallen into.      
     Duke William of Aquitaine founded the Abbey on his Burgundy estates in 910, inviting  a monk named Berno to serve as abbot and—and this is remarkable for the period—giving the abbey independence from any civil or ecclesiastical oversight, making it answerable only to the pope.  This was not particularly auspicious as Sergius III, “possibly the only pope known to have ordered the murder of another pope and the only pope to have fathered an illegitimate son who later became pope (John XI)…”  was pope at the time of Cluny’s foundation.  Sergius’ mistress—and mother of John XI—was Marozia whom you may remember from our entries on the “pornacracy.” (See the entries for January 15, June 6, 9, 18.)  John XI himself when he came to the throne became a great benefactor of the Abbey during his papacy—though otherwise he was a pretty worthless pope.  He was bullied by his older brother, Alberic II, Duke of Spoleto, who used his younger brother’s papacy as an opportunity to control not only the Papal States but the Church itself to his own interests.   Nevertheless, bad people often do good things and John’s granting of so many privileges to Cluny was indeed a very good thing. 
      In any event, Berno had a history of reforming and founding abbeys and was a very capable administrator as well as a man of personal holiness.  He had a definite philosophy of monastic life, shaped by the ninth-century monastic regimen of Benedict of Aniane.  Berno saw the essence of the monastic life in the perfection of liturgical prayer and that the monastery, as a “heaven on earth” was to engage as far as possible in the laus perennis—the unceasing praise.  The ideal would be a continuous, never-ceasing, round of ceremonial worship that continued twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week—the monks working (that is to say, praying) in shifts.  Such an ideal would be all but impossible, of course, to realize but Cluny was to come close with its long and splendid ceremonials. 
       In his dependency on Benedict of Aniane for the monastic vision, Berno made Cluny a bridge spanning the Carolingian Reformation—of which Benedict of Aniane was a key player—the Ottonian (to which Cluny style monasticism would contribute Gerbert of Aurillac aka the reforming Pope Sylvester II)and leading to the Gregorian Reform which it was to inspire. (Just to be clear, Gerbert’s home monastery was not part of the Cluniac federation, but like many Benedictine houses of the time modeled its observance on the Cluniac practices.) 
      I must admit I have always had a weak spot for Cluny and its monks.  Regretfully I have yet to visit the site, perhaps someday.  But to return to our story—William’s endowment of his new Abbey was so generous that the monks were substantially freed of the need for any manual labor to support themselves and thus were free to give themselves almost entirely to the project of continuous worship.  The more they chanted psalms and processed around their church and burned incense and turned donations into chalices and chandeliers, the more donations poured into their coffers and vocations into the abbey.  And the  more monks and money, the more elaborate and all-consuming became the liturgy.  Benefactors would bequeath to the Abbey manors and farms, mills and tolls, weirs and orchards and vineyards.  Everything came with a price.  “Here is a manor, but we want a weekly mass said for the deceased of our family.”  “Here is an orchard, but you must have a procession each year on the anniversary of grandmama’s death.”   “Here is a toll on the Rhone bridge, but you must sing a Litany in honor of Saint Anne four times a year.”  Wealth piled up, ceremonies piled up.  Vocations piled up.  Cluny founded daughter houses, but unlike other Benedictine Abbeys never granted the daughter houses independence.  By keeping them subject to the Abbey of Cluny, the Abbot of Cluny had a right to come into each foundation and insure that they were not slacking on the monastic observance.  It was this innovation that created the modern concept of a religious order. 
      The Cluniac Order—for they were an Order and not merely a federation of independent monasteries—became famous throughout Europe for its high standards of monastic life and worship.  Cluny had a succession of phenomenal Abbots in leadership of the movement: Odo, Maiolus, Odilo, Hugh I, Hugh II, Peter the Venerable among them.  In a Church that was in great decay, Cluny set a standard for monastic life that was a beacon for reform.   Not all monasteries adopted the Cluniac program, but it did trigger a movement of monastic reforms that in turn would trigger a generation of monk reformers who brought the same enthusiasm for integrity and reform to the larger church.  
 

Roots of the Reformation XVIII: The Papacy of Whores

The Pope and his curia
medieval manuscript, Krakow

The papacy was in terrible decline from the 9^th century onwards –result of its immense wealth and the contentiousness to control it that made the papacy a pawn of several great Roman families that wanted to manipulate the wealth and power attached to the papacy for their own uses.  But this totally wiped out the moral credibility of the papacy and, at this stage of development of the doctrine of papal power, loss of moral credibility meant loss of power. 

The main power brokers for a long time were the family of Counts of Tusculum.  Two of the women of this family—Marozia and her mother, Theodora—prostituted themselves to different popes and schemed to put their sons and grandsons on the throne of Peter.  Marozia, the younger of the two women, while still only 15 was the mistress of Pope Sergius III.  Sergius seems to have been rather young  himself at the time of his being made pope, and he owed the papal office to Theophylact, the Count of Tusculum and father of Marozia.  Theophylact was the vestarius (treasurer) to the popes—a position which gave him access to the papal wealth.  There was a lot of confusion in the papacy at this time.  Leo V had been forcibly dethroned and imprisoned to be succeeded by Christopher.  Modern Church historians consider Christopher an anti-pope—but as recently as the early twentieth century he had been included on the list of legitimate popes and his picture is among the papal mosaics stretching from Peter to John Paul II decorating the basilica of Saint Paul Outside the Walls in Rome.   In any event, his reign was quite short as after four months Sergius III—the “boyfriend” of Marozia—drove him from office and had him imprisoned in the Castle Sant’Angelo.  Both Leo and Christopher were strangled in Prison—some sources claiming that Christopher had Leo strangled and Sergius had Christopher so dispatched; others saying that Sergius ordered the murder of both in order to remove any counter-claims to his own papacy.  So you’ve got a fellow who was made pope by his girl-friend’s father and who has murdered—or ordered murdered—his predecessor(s).  We haven’t even begun yet.  In 910 Marozia and Pope Sergius have a son who, twenty years later, will himself become pope as John XI.  Sergius was long dead, of course, but Marozia was still around and engineered the election.  Marozia had a long string of lovers—some sources say including one or more of the intervening popes—and several husbands.  One of the husbands—Guy of Tuscany—attacked Rome where he and Marozia murdred pope John X and installed a succession of popes—Leo VI, Stephen VII, and her son by Sergius, John XI—who were no more than her puppets.  When Guy died, Marozia persuaded his brother, Hugh of Arles, to abandon his wife and marry her.  Alberic II, Marozia’s  son by her first husband, Alberic of Spoleto, had enough of her, however, and led a rebellion, putting both her and his half-brother, Pope John XI, in prison where they were murdered.  Lest you think that Alberic II was a good guy protecting the Church from all these evil people—he married his stepsister and then nominated his son to be pope.  The son, at age 17, became pope in 955 as John XII.  here is what was written of him:

Then, rising up, the cardinal priest Peter testified that he himself had seen John XII celebrate Mass without taking communion. John, bishop of Narni, and John, a cardinal deacon, professed that they themselves saw that a deacon had been ordained in a horse stable, but were unsure of the time. Benedict, cardinal deacon, with other co-deacons and priests, said they knew that he had been paid for ordaining bishops, specifically that he had ordained a ten-year-old bishop in the city of Todi... They testified about his adultery, which they did not see with their own eyes, but nonetheless knew with certainty: he had fornicated with the widow of Rainier, with Stephana his father's concubine, with the widow Anna, and with his own niece, and he made the sacred palace into a whorehouse. They said that he had gone hunting publicly; that he had blinded his confessor Benedict, and thereafter Benedict had died; that he had killed John, cardinal subdeacon, after castrating him; and that he had set fires, girded on a sword, and put on a helmet and cuirass. All, clerics as well as laymen, declared that he had toasted to the devil with wine. They said when playing at dice, he invoked Jupiter, Venus and other demons. They even said he did not celebrate Matins and the canonical hours nor did he make the sign of the cross.

Whoa boy, ya think ya seen it all.  But wait—what happened to Theodora, the mama bear in this adorable family of adulterous murderers.  (And why didn’t Sister even tell us about this in sixth-grade history?)   Oh, by the way, before I go further: Pope John XII is a great, great, great, great, great, great, grandson of Charlemagne—through his mother.  Not that that is relevant.  It isn’t.  Just a little fact of history.  Theodora was not idle through all this.  She was a senetrix (a lady Senator) of Rome—more a title in those days than an actual position.    But Lady Senators were most rare and in fact it was a title that legitimized her immense political power.   Theodora was mistress to John X whom Marozia and Guy of Tuscany had killed.  Was Marozia jealous of her mother’s power?  Did that inspire the murder?  Who knows, it is all a mess.

Some modern historians claim that the various sources (Luitprand of Cremona, the Liber Pontificalis, and other contemporary histories)  portray Theodora and Marozia harshly, even falsely, because they were jealous of females exercising the political power that these women managed to wield.   That could—to a certain extent—be true; all historians have bias and there are no true “facts” in history.  The very tone of voice prejudices the student to the teacher’s point of view.  Nonetheless, these ladies and the accompanying popes are no candidates for canonization.  This period, known by the pejorative but wonderful appellation: the Pornacracy (the Rule of Whores), marks the most morally deprived period on the history of the popes.  Trust me when I say that this entry has only skimmed over the murders, adulteries, sodomies, bribes, simonies, blasphemies, and only the devil knows what else that has adorned the papal throne.  While great saints have sat in Peter’s chair, its history is not one of holiness.  But the question arises—and it is a question not only for the tenth century—who can reform the papacy when it needs reform?  What happens when the man on Peter’s throne is a depraved whoremaster?  Or, even more serious, what happens when the man on Peter’s throne is only a puppet for some figure, male or female, in the shadows who has control of the Church?  Don’t say it can’t happen—it has and more than once.   And it may have happened much more recently than you might think.  Hmmm.  Very recently.  The man in the window may not be the man with the power.